


The Boy Next Door

by BSparrow



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSparrow/pseuds/BSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something strange about Geoff's new neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's been an unusual night for Geoff Ramsey. Of course, in a city like Los Santos, there are no "usual" nights. Not really. But this one has been particularly strange.

He was supposed to meet a new contact at a bar over on Lexington, an important contact that he needed in his pocket if he was going to continue to expand his operations to the eastern part of the state. He'd waited there for him for an hour but the guy never showed. And Geoff should've just gone home but he wouldn't be Geoff Ramsey if he could just walk away from endless free drinks and a hot bartender.

Of course, at the end of the night his bartender went home with the big, bald bouncer and left Geoff to drag himself into a cab. He knew it wasn’t a smart move for someone of his notoriety, not if he wanted to make it to 40. Normally he would've taken Ryan along with him for just that reason, to have someone to stay sober and watch his back, but he hadn't wanted to spook this guy. 

In any case, that's how he's found himself swaying dangerously in the elevator of his apartment building, trying his hardest not to puke all over the shiny gold wall. Fuck, was he really this drunk? Those drinks must have been stronger than he'd realized.

The doors open with a ding and he staggers out, one hand on the wall for support and guidance. There are only two apartments on this floor, on opposite sides of the hallway - mirror images of one another. The other place had been empty for months but some guy finally moved in about two weeks ago. Geoff’s been meaning to check him out, to make sure he’s not a threat, but it keeps slipping his mind.

When Geoff finally reaches the doors, he's struck dumb by a moment of utter confusion. Both doors look exactly the same and he has no idea which one is his. Besides, he doesn't even know where his fucking keys are. He thinks about reaching into his pockets to look for them but it's a task so insurmountable he might as well be considering climbing Mt. Everest. 

The last thing he remembers is slumping against one of the doors, hoping it might magically open, and then sliding slowly, gracefully to the floor.

* * *

When he comes to, he's stretched out on an unfamiliar sofa in a strangely familiar room. The television is paused on some kind of shitty Mario game and he stares at it for a moment, disoriented, before he sits up and tries to get his bearings. It's - it's his living room but it...isn't.

"Fucking finally. I thought you were dead," a voice says from somewhere behind him.

Geoff turns quickly, too quickly, and his stomach lurches violently at the sudden movement. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he tries to focus on the young man walking towards him.

He stops short in front of Geoff, eyeing him suspiciously. "Are you gonna puke on my couch? Dude, don't you fucking dare."

Geoff swallows back the sick feeling with some effort, closing his eyes and taking a deep, deep breath.

"No," he croaks. His voice is fucking wrecked. Gross. "Who the fuck are you?"

The kid raises a brow. "Michael. Your neighbor? I live across the hall?"

"Oh," Geoff says eloquently, still baffled. Michael sighs at his blank stare.

"You passed out in the hallway and I dragged your heavy ass in here so you didn't get like...mugged or something. I didn't want to go digging through your pockets to find your key because your fucking jeans are stupidly tight. Seriously, dude, how do they not cut the blood flow off to your dick?"

"Oh," Geoff says again and maybe he's still a little fucked up. The edges of his mind feel fuzzy and his words are slip-sliding together, all soft edges and dropped consonants. "Uh, thanks."

"No problem. Really though, you're not gonna puke are you? You look like shit."

Geoff shakes his head slowly, carefully. "No, I'm - I'm good. Gonna go home now."

Michael holds the door open for him as Geoff struggles to his feet and tries to walk a relatively straight line across the ever-moving, ever-shifting floor.

He stumbles a little in the doorway and Michael reaches out to steady him. "Jesus, dude. Take it easy on the booze next time."

Geoff brushes him off, inexplicably annoyed by his concern, and makes it to his door. He pauses there, leaning his forehead against the cold wood as he digs through his pocket for his keys. He knows they're here. Somewhere.

There. There they are. His fingers close around them but they slip out of his grasp once, twice, three times. Geoff groans in frustration, wondering if he’s being punished for something. Maybe this is payback for the whole leader-of-a-criminal-empire thing.

From behind him, he hears Michael sigh deeply. "Fucking Christ. Do you need help?"

"No, I got it," Geoff snaps, trying in vain to force his thick, clumsy fingers to work. "Fuck. No, I don't got it."

Michael grumbles under his breath as he closes the space between them. The kid's front presses against his back and Geoff sways forward a little, bracing himself on the door. He has a moment of awareness that this is oddly erotic, wants to make a joke about it, but the thought passes quickly.

"Don't take this the wrong way, man. Just gonna -" Michael breaks off, shoving his hand deep into Geoff's pocket. Geoff jerks in surprise but the touch is gone as quickly as it came. "Here we go."

Michael unlocks the door for him and Geoff brushes past him to fling it open. He takes one step inside and immediately stumbles over his own feet.

"Fuck." He catches himself on the back of the sofa, wishing he knew where the light switch was. Fuck it, he'll just wing it.

His foot catches on something on the floor, god only knows what, and he goes down hard, cursing a blue streak. And then the neighbor boy is there, hauling him to his feet with surprisingly strong hands and settling him on the sofa.

"Jesus, you're like a fucking toddler. Just stay here okay? You're gonna get yourself killed." He pushes at Geoff's shoulders and, though he wants to argue, Geoff sinks back into the cushions.

Michael stands over him for a moment with Geoff's keys still in his hands. Geoff wants to ask for them back, knows it's important, but the thought slips away too quickly for the words to form on his tongue. The world slides sideways, the kid’s face swimming in front of him. Darkness is creeping in around the edges of his vision and Geoff greets it happily, closing his eyes as the sound of jingling keys fades away.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When he opens his eyes again, it's morning. Weak gray light is streaming through his open blinds and his head is pounding like a motherfucker.

He finds his way to the kitchen, hunts down a bottle of Advil, and swallows three or four of them with flat, warm beer from a bottle left on the counter. It's not a cure but it's a start. What he needs, what he really needs is a big, greasy breakfast to soak up some of the booze that's currently churning his empty stomach like a goddamn washing machine.

Where's his wallet? He reaches into his back pocket and there it is, thank fucking god. His keys? He looks around and finally finds them on the coffee table. Okay, he thinks, he can make it downstairs and down the block to Jerry's Diner. Jerry knows him - he'll hook him up.

But when Geoff opens his front door, he very nearly crashes into someone standing in his way. His bleary eyes fall on a pale kid with curly red hair and dark eyes that have gone wide with surprise. Geoff squints at him in the stark daylight.

"Mike, right?" he asks, leaning heavily against his doorframe.

"Michael," the guy corrects him in a rough voice. He clears his throat, stands up a little straighter, and raises a brow. "Glad to see you're still alive."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you passed out in the hallway last night. Don't know if you remember."

Geoff thinks about it, sorts through a few fuzzy, vague memories. "Kind of. You helped me inside?"

"Yeah." Michael shrugs like it's no big deal.

Geoff tries to smile but his face hurts. "Thanks, dude. You're awesome. I owe you one."

The kid rolls his eyes. "Shut up. Couldn't just leave you out here, could I?"

He's pretty cute, Geoff realizes with a start. Too young, of course, but his shoulders are broad, his hips are narrow, and Jesus Christ, he's got one hell of a dimpled smile going on, like he knows exactly what Geoff is thinking.

"Let me buy you breakfast," he blurts out. Michael looks surprised and Geoff rushes to explain. "Just to pay you back, you know? Fuck knows I'd probably still be laying out here on this dirty ass floor if it wasn't for you."

Michael stares at him hard for a moment and then shrugs. "Fuck it. Where are we going?"

* * *

Outside, the sky is turning grey and the clouds overhead are heavy with the promise of rain. The first few drops come when they're halfway down the block and they make it to the door just in time.

Jerry bustles over as soon as they walk in, shaking Geoff's hand and leading them over to a table by the window where they can see the rain coming down in earnest now. It's almost lunchtime but the place still smells strongly of breakfast. Geoff's mouth is fucking watering. As soon as they're seated, one waitress hurries over with the coffeepot while another comes to take their orders.

When they're finally alone again, Geoff takes a sip of too-hot coffee and sits staring at Michael who is somehow managing to look pretty damn good even under the harsh, unflattering overhead lights. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask the kid how he does that but Geoff catches himself just in time.

"So," he says instead, casting around for something to talk about. "You're pretty new to the building, right?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Geoff echoes, letting the subject drop. It was boring anyway. Michael's brushing a hand back and forth over his damp hair and Geoff can't stop watching the way the curls spring right back into place, shiny with little droplets of water. He says the first thing that comes to mind. "Your hair is super curly, dude. It's kind of hypnotizing."

Michael looks at him like he's said the stupidest thing in the world and then he's laughing. And yeah, he's definitely laughing _at_ Geoff but it's a nice, throaty sound so Geoff can't bring himself to mind too much. He sits back and watches, enjoying the way the kid throws his head back, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners.

"You're so weird, dude." Michael shakes his head. "So fucking weird."

"Am not," Geoff argues like a five year old. "You're weird."

“I’m weird?” Michael points at his own chest, voice climbing an octave. “I’m weird? I’m not the guy who passed out in the hallway and talked about Colin fucking Farrell in my sleep while drooling on some other dude’s couch. And yes, before you ask, you definitely fucking drool.”

Geoff's brows furrow. “Colin Farrell? You’re full of shit. I don’t even like Colin Farrell.”

“Tell your fucking subconscious that, dude.”

Geoff is still trying to think of a comeback when the waitress arrives with their food. He decides to let it go in favor of digging in with gusto, imagining the eggs and bacon soaking up all that leftover alcohol. He's pretty sure that's not how it actually works but fuck it, it helps.

And then he stops to chug down a whole glass of water because he's suddenly so fucking thirsty he could drink a lake dry. Michael stares at him like he's crazy again.

“Like you’ve never had a hangover,” Geoff mutters, without really meaning to, around a mouthful of ketchup-y hash browns.

“You got me there, dude. I've definitely been there,” Michael says with some sympathy. It catches Geoff’s attention and he takes another look at the kid who’s shaking his head, jaw working as he chews a mouthful of pancakes. “It looks pretty fucking hilarious from the other side though, I gotta admit.”

His eyes are bright, laughing even though he’s not, and Geoff finds himself staring until it’s probably a little creepy. Michael notices and raises a brow.

To ease the tension, Geoff says, “You’re cute.”

And fuck, that’s not what he was planning to say at all. Michael bursts into real, genuine laughter this time and Geoff slaps a hand over his face, his cheeks going hot. God, he’s a fucking moron.

“Uh, thanks?” Michael finally says, still sounding amused. He pokes at Geoff’s arm with the prongs of his fork. “Hey, it’s cool, dude. It’s all good.”

Geoff looks up, uncertain, and Michael is smiling. Yeah, still cute. But fuck, he’s not gonna say it again. No, definitely not.

“Yup, really cute,” his mouth says without his consent and he mentally kicks himself in the balls. Michael’s laughter is now drawing the attention of the other customers. Geoff scrubs at his gritty eyes. “Fuck, I think I’m still drunk, man.”

“Yeah, good excuse,” Michael winks at him and Geoff feels something stir deep down in his gut. He licks his lips but Michael just looks back down at his plate and stabs another forkful of food. “So, you told me last night your name was Geoff, right?”

“I guess.” Geoff answers absently, suddenly not hungry anymore. He turns to look out the grimy window as lightning streaks across the gray sky.

“You guess that’s your name?” Michael snorts. Geoff frowns at him and Michael presses on. “I don’t see you around a lot, Geoff. You work out of town or something?”

“You could say that,” Geoff answers vaguely. It’s not like he’s going to explain his criminal fucking empire to this kid over eggs. Nope. Not gonna happen. “My job’s kind of…variable.”

“Variable?”

“Variable,” Geoff confirms without expanding, chewing a bland mouthful of something white and gritty that’s probably meant to be grits but so isn’t.

“Don’t get too specific." Michael laughs, taking a sip of Coke. His eyes meet Geoff's and good fucking god, they're the color of bourbon. And maybe Geoff swoons. Just a little. “Just kidding, man. Mine is too. Variable, I mean.”

“Yeah? What do you do?” he asks, just to keep the conversation going. He can’t imagine this kid working the nine-to-five slog. Surely he should be in college or something, right?

“Are we getting into details now?” Michael asks coolly, stirring the ice around in his drink with his straw.

Geoff gets the hint even though he's suddenly flooded with curiosity. “Nope. No details.”

“Good.”

They fall into an easy sort of rapport and Geoff is both surprised and disappointed when all the food is gone and the waitress is bringing over the check. It’s still storming outside, raining fucking cats and dogs, and they pause in the doorway, looking outside uncertainly.

“Should we make a run for it?” Michael asks, peering out from under the awning with a doubtful look on his fucking handsome, chiseled face.

Geoff swallows and forces his eyes away from the kid’s profile. What the fuck is wrong with him? “I’m up for it if you are.”

Michael grins and nudges him in the ribs. “Fuck yeah, man. First one to the lobby wins. Loser buys the winner dinner.”

“Winner dinner." Geoff chuckles and Michael just rolls his eyes. “Okay, let’s go.”

They dash out into the driving rain like a couple of maniacs, almost bowling over a pastor and a man with a leg brace. Geoff isn’t the most graceful runner and Michael pulls ahead easily, turning to look at Geoff over his shoulder with a wicked smile as they close in on their apartment building.

But he gets cocky and, when he stumbles on the front steps, Geoff takes full advantage of the setback to pull ahead, skidding through the front doors with his arms flailing and his shoes slipping on the wet tile.

“Hah, you owe me now, asshole!” Geoff points at Michael triumphantly as he drags himself inside, curls hanging limp across his forehead. Michael glares at him and Geoff’s smile widens. “I think you should pay up tonight before you forget.”

“Fine,” Michael snaps, brushing past him and heading for the elevator. Geoff follows closely.

“So what are you feeding me?” he finally asks as Michael punches the button for the top floor, looking charmingly grumpy.

Michael fixes him with a resentful stare and pushes his soaking wet hair back off his forehead. “What do you want?”

“Hmm.” Geoff draws it out, leaning back against the wall and staring up at their warped reflections in the overhead mirror. “I think I’m in the mood for a home-cooked meal actually.”

“Fuck,” Michael grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Geoff takes a moment to admire the sleek, defined muscle there before clearing his throat. “I mean…can you cook though?”

“Of course I can fucking cook,” Michael barks at him and Geoff holds his hands up in surrender. The kid has a temper on him but he likes that. It does things to him.

“What time should I come over?” he asks, trying and failing to fight back a shit-eating grin.

Michael snorts. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

 


End file.
